: About Me

RIDING THE MORNING The predawn silence is broken lightly by the jingle of bit and leather tossed over my shoulder. I make my way over patches of ice-encrusted snow to the barn door, listen to the familiar creak and shudder of wood as I slide it open. Inside, I reach for a switch, drown the darkness with light, hear the scurry of mice seeking shelter from my intrusion. A head appears over a stall door, a note of curiosity in the set of the ears, the finely chiseled muzzle searching the air. I enter his stall, let my hands feel the soft warmth of him, watch as his breath rides out on tendril...